280416 - Jitters x Grandmother
#100happydays: DAY 8
I did something that freaked me out today - I can't go into details because I don't want to jinx it, but I saw something calling for a sign-on and I did it! I'm absolutely terrified at this point, but I promised myself I'd do it if I saw a chance and I'm taking this for sure.
I'll give more details once the thing's over, but before that here's hoping I'll break a leg!
101 Things I Think About: DAY 8
Today marks the second year since my grandmother's passing. It's funny how time flies, because it still feels like my grandmother hasn't been gone that long but I only have hazy memories from attending her wake. I remember thinking that my cousins and I were strongly against the idea of giving her a sea burial, but since it was what our aunts said we should do we kept quiet, and I told myself that it wouldn't be so bad since she now had my grandfather to keep her company and take care of her - he was a sailor, and my mother used to tell me bits and pieces about what he was like.
I just miss my grandmother, that's all - I used to speak to her in Mandarin Chinese, but after she got older and her memory started to deteriorate she stuck to Cantonese, which was a dialect I could listen to but didn't know how to speak. Where to start, though? How do you reconstruct a person based on the memories you have?
It's a saying that you drink soup from cradle to grave if your mother is Cantonese, but I think the same holds true for if your grandmother is Cantonese - I used to love my grandmother's soups all the time, especially the chestnut soup that was always the perfect balance of savoury and sweet. I miss that so much - it had such a strong taste of home - and I'd like to try making it one day.
There are a hundred little stories that I have about my grandmother, such as when she had to take care of me when I was a newborn - I was supposed to have a nanny taking care of me because my mother had to work, but I was born premature, which meant that the nanny was unavailable and so my grandmother stepped in to look after me.
It's all the small things that my mother told me, like how I was so small as a baby that my grandmother was terrified of accidentally dropping me into the little tub she used to bathe me.
It's all the little stories tinted with sepia, like how I used to leave books all over my grandmother's bed because I was an avid reader from a very young age, and she used to sigh and complain to my mother (albeit jokingly) that she should give up on buying lottery tickets because the Chinese character for "book" (书) sounded the same for the character for "lose" (输).
My grandmother never once raised her voice at me, and as much as I'd like to say that it was because I was a good kid, it was also because my grandmother truly doted on me - there's a Chinese character -疼- which means to hurt or feel pain, but also means to dote on or care for something or someone, and I feel that this word was what my entire relationship with my grandmother was like. She doted on me, and I loved her very much.
My grandmother and I were closest when I was younger because that was when she was old but still strong and still very much the matriarch of the family - she would call my mother every week because she knew we would be going to her place to visit, and she wanted to know what I wanted to have for lunch. And no matter what I listed, I knew there would always be a plate of hot, freshly-fried fishcakes - my favourite besides soup - sitting on the dining table when we arrived.
Even after her health deteriorated and she had to be shifted to a nursing home, she continued to dote on me in ways that she could - the nursing home gave its residents hard-boiled eggs to make sure that they had protein, and my grandmother would always save an egg to give to me whenever we came to visit. It never mattered that I didn't really want to eat the egg, because I held on to it regardless - this was my grandmother's way of showing she cared - remember the word 疼 - and it was all that mattered to me.
I can't remember exactly what it was for, but eventually we had to visit her in the hospital, and then came a point where we knew that our time left with her was quickly dwindling. When she passed away, I saw my mother break down while calling her for the last time, and that was when it truly hit: my grandmother was gone, but my mother's mother was gone too.
The wake was three days long, and my grandmother came back on the second day. I'm not sure if this belief extends to other religions and cultures, but my mother believes that the deceased's soul comes back - usually in the form of an insect - to say goodbye to mourners, family and friends. I know that it sounds crazy and like we're grasping at straws, but a fly kept buzzing around us as we kept vigil on the second day, and it spent the longest time in front of my mother just staring at her. I honestly wish I could say that I didn't believe my mother, but I can't - I can't explain how the fly just flew at me and hit me HARD on my forehead, as if it were my grandmother flicking me across the forehead for always being so clumsy or bad at speaking Cantonese, and I can't explain how the fly simply sat there on the mat with us as we kept vigil, stubborn and unafraid.
Life went on after her passing, but it still felt weird sometimes. I'm always thinking about her, and I always miss her - the pang's just stronger especially around Chinese New Year because we can't greet her anymore - she used to scold me because I didn't speak Chinese well and never knew what phrases to offer in greeting besides the textbook 恭禧發財 and 身体健康.
It's like I said - how do you reconstruct someone from the memories that you have? How do I show how strong and fierce and stubborn my grandmother was, and how much love I felt from her? I don't know, but I hope this post has managed to show even a fraction of how much she meant - and still means - to me.
I did something that freaked me out today - I can't go into details because I don't want to jinx it, but I saw something calling for a sign-on and I did it! I'm absolutely terrified at this point, but I promised myself I'd do it if I saw a chance and I'm taking this for sure.
I'll give more details once the thing's over, but before that here's hoping I'll break a leg!
101 Things I Think About: DAY 8
Today marks the second year since my grandmother's passing. It's funny how time flies, because it still feels like my grandmother hasn't been gone that long but I only have hazy memories from attending her wake. I remember thinking that my cousins and I were strongly against the idea of giving her a sea burial, but since it was what our aunts said we should do we kept quiet, and I told myself that it wouldn't be so bad since she now had my grandfather to keep her company and take care of her - he was a sailor, and my mother used to tell me bits and pieces about what he was like.
I just miss my grandmother, that's all - I used to speak to her in Mandarin Chinese, but after she got older and her memory started to deteriorate she stuck to Cantonese, which was a dialect I could listen to but didn't know how to speak. Where to start, though? How do you reconstruct a person based on the memories you have?
It's a saying that you drink soup from cradle to grave if your mother is Cantonese, but I think the same holds true for if your grandmother is Cantonese - I used to love my grandmother's soups all the time, especially the chestnut soup that was always the perfect balance of savoury and sweet. I miss that so much - it had such a strong taste of home - and I'd like to try making it one day.
There are a hundred little stories that I have about my grandmother, such as when she had to take care of me when I was a newborn - I was supposed to have a nanny taking care of me because my mother had to work, but I was born premature, which meant that the nanny was unavailable and so my grandmother stepped in to look after me.
It's all the small things that my mother told me, like how I was so small as a baby that my grandmother was terrified of accidentally dropping me into the little tub she used to bathe me.
It's all the little stories tinted with sepia, like how I used to leave books all over my grandmother's bed because I was an avid reader from a very young age, and she used to sigh and complain to my mother (albeit jokingly) that she should give up on buying lottery tickets because the Chinese character for "book" (书) sounded the same for the character for "lose" (输).
My grandmother never once raised her voice at me, and as much as I'd like to say that it was because I was a good kid, it was also because my grandmother truly doted on me - there's a Chinese character -疼- which means to hurt or feel pain, but also means to dote on or care for something or someone, and I feel that this word was what my entire relationship with my grandmother was like. She doted on me, and I loved her very much.
My grandmother and I were closest when I was younger because that was when she was old but still strong and still very much the matriarch of the family - she would call my mother every week because she knew we would be going to her place to visit, and she wanted to know what I wanted to have for lunch. And no matter what I listed, I knew there would always be a plate of hot, freshly-fried fishcakes - my favourite besides soup - sitting on the dining table when we arrived.
My grandmother holding me when I was a baby - I think this was taken in her bedroom, because that clock in the background looks especially familiar.
Even after her health deteriorated and she had to be shifted to a nursing home, she continued to dote on me in ways that she could - the nursing home gave its residents hard-boiled eggs to make sure that they had protein, and my grandmother would always save an egg to give to me whenever we came to visit. It never mattered that I didn't really want to eat the egg, because I held on to it regardless - this was my grandmother's way of showing she cared - remember the word 疼 - and it was all that mattered to me.
I can't remember exactly what it was for, but eventually we had to visit her in the hospital, and then came a point where we knew that our time left with her was quickly dwindling. When she passed away, I saw my mother break down while calling her for the last time, and that was when it truly hit: my grandmother was gone, but my mother's mother was gone too.
The wake was three days long, and my grandmother came back on the second day. I'm not sure if this belief extends to other religions and cultures, but my mother believes that the deceased's soul comes back - usually in the form of an insect - to say goodbye to mourners, family and friends. I know that it sounds crazy and like we're grasping at straws, but a fly kept buzzing around us as we kept vigil on the second day, and it spent the longest time in front of my mother just staring at her. I honestly wish I could say that I didn't believe my mother, but I can't - I can't explain how the fly just flew at me and hit me HARD on my forehead, as if it were my grandmother flicking me across the forehead for always being so clumsy or bad at speaking Cantonese, and I can't explain how the fly simply sat there on the mat with us as we kept vigil, stubborn and unafraid.
Life went on after her passing, but it still felt weird sometimes. I'm always thinking about her, and I always miss her - the pang's just stronger especially around Chinese New Year because we can't greet her anymore - she used to scold me because I didn't speak Chinese well and never knew what phrases to offer in greeting besides the textbook 恭禧發財 and 身体健康.
It's like I said - how do you reconstruct someone from the memories that you have? How do I show how strong and fierce and stubborn my grandmother was, and how much love I felt from her? I don't know, but I hope this post has managed to show even a fraction of how much she meant - and still means - to me.
Your granny must be so proud of what you have become.
ReplyDeleteAnd she must be very happy knowing how much she means to you :)